by Murray Ewing
Wish I could be a witch
Real old-hag-cackling bitch
I’d cast me a spell
That’d summon up hell
From a cauldron black as pitch
Wish I could get me a potion
Or a make-me-a-werewolf lotion
I’d rub it right in
Like it says on the tin
In a counterclockwise motion
Wish I could come back a ghost
In some creaky old house on the coast
Then each stormy night
I’d moan up a fright
Just like a ghost’s supposed
I wish, I just wish, I could be
A great monster in the sea
Or a zombie or a ghoul
Or a demon’d be cool
Or anything, anything, but me
